


A matter of honor.

by TeikoHikaru



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Blood As Lube, Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Drama, Fights, Love/Hate, M/M, Minor Character Death, References to Drugs, Sex, Smoking, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Violence, Weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29014986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeikoHikaru/pseuds/TeikoHikaru
Summary: Hazbin Hotel Noir Mafia AU.See the beginning of the first chapter for the pre-story.
Relationships: Alastor & Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Kudos: 10





	1. I'll take this upon myself.

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Дело чести](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/749586) by TeikoHikaru. 



A pre-story: Angel Dust is a leader of a small mafia clan specializing on drugs production, pimping and prostitution. And a huge and powerful clan under the control of Alastor was buying drugs of their production. Everything went brilliant until the day Angel got an idea to cheat a little - give a fake load of cocaine, and hide the good one for themselves. Who would expect the customer to even check it? But, well, they checked.

***

\- Speak the fuck up, you filthy bastard, or I will rip off your blasted tongue and poke it into your throat!  
\- Hon' I'm afraid that'll make you' task even mo' difficult..

A weak, coarse laugh turns into a painful breath after a rapid kick to the stomach. A lean younker tries to crook, but tough ties wouldn't even let him move. So he just howls quietly and spits another blood clot on the floor. Snarls, showing teeth stained in red.

A man, who has been beating him for several hours already, snorts angrily. He must be making zero impression on the captive, and it drives him crazy. Losing the temper, he hits the prisoner's chair and it falls on a dirty floor with the boy. Captive's consciousness leaves, when his head hits the cold concrete - for which time already?.. And he sees, again, the picture of comber events that brought him in there.

***

There were no signs foreshadowing the tragedy of Dust family in that quiet evening. At least at the first sight. The clan hall was full of noises and partying people. The head of the house was sluggishly laying on the couch with a glass of vermouth, and watching some pretty drunk musicians trying to perform a newest jazz hit.

Abruptly, party noises were ripped up by a scream from outside. Sounds of shooting followed. Angel Dust's pale skin went completely white, all signs of alcohol wiped out of his head in a flash. Everybody knew _who_ the guests were. Ladies run to the back door. Lads grabbed scattered weapons and peered towards the front door. Dragging a shotgun from under the couch, Angel could feel his hands shaking, and gritted his teeth.

He dashed to the courtyard, and all clan members followed. Recognizable red blazers were flashing here and there, mixing with dark uniform of sentries. And the number of the last was decreasing horribly fast.

Dusts slashed into a fighting throng. There were no time for trying to aim, so Angel threw away the shotgun and took out the hunting knife. He felt vertiginous because of screams and a heavy smell of blood. He tried to lash out at the tall figure in red, but sprung back in a second. A blade whistled in a millimeter from Angel's chest. He could see the attacker's face for a moment - bloodstained, with a menacing mad smile frozen on his lips. A sight of dark scarlet eyes felt like it burned through Angel.

An unknown opponent looked away, losing interest, and attacked another Dust clansman. Playfully escaped the stroke of machete, and cut upwards - with a wide rapid sweep, in the neck, pointing precisely at the arteria. A fountain of weirdly bright blood gushed out right at the stranger, and he laughed. Angie's own blood ran cold from this ecstatic, reckless laughter. Still laughing, a man leaned sideways, getting away from another rival's stab, and let him rush past himself. His movements were graceful and light, like as he was dancing, not fighting. The opponent appeared to be too slow and missed a hit. A knife's blade plunged deeply under the ribs. A victim tried to turn to his rival, but… worthless. Steel claws attached to the psycho's gloves twinkled in the dim light, when he clinged into the other's throat. Dark leather of the gloves got all stained in red.

Angel Dust froze, so spellbound that he couldn't turn the sight away. Sounds of an ongoing massacre weren't even reaching him at this moment. He was enchanted with movements of this stranger - perfectly sharpened and refined, he was indeed dancing. Dancing a deadly and impossibly ravishing swing of slaughter. His presumably white shirt was so perfused with blood that it seemed dark red. Completely wet, it was sticking to the man's slender body, showing outlines of muscles relief at his torso.

Angel couldn't help staring at this picture with a vague admiration, but a stranger seemed to feel that he was being watched. He kicked the body away, freeing a hand, and turned rapidly to the blonde. Dust was pierced by this scarlet sight again, this time it was accompanied by a scoffing grin. The reason of that expression became obvious just a second later when a heavy gun butt wrecked Angel's head and the world drowned in the darkness.

***

He wasn't really sure that he indeed regained his consciousness. What he saw looked like another part of this painful hallucination, because… Because same glowing scarlet eyes were looking right at him, just like the moment ago.

Angel twitched his head trying to hit a rival with his forehead. But, of course, failed. However, small sparkles of interest sprang in this uncanny gaze.  
\- _Oh, not too bad, young man_ , - a creep spoke quietly. Despite his deceivingly friendly tone, metal was clinking in his voice. It was not too low, but filled with power and authority. - Bring him up, - he commanded quickly, looking somewhere aside.  
Someone - presumably the same man who was beating Angel to get information, crudely grabbed the chair and put it into normal position. Blonde winced uncomfortably, when the ropes squeezed his soft skin even tighter.

\- Sergio, leave us, - a man said dryly, - I'll take this upon myself.  
Dust's torturer left the room pretty quickly, and slammed the door. The sound caused a vague yet pretty terrifying association with a closing trap.  
A stranger at that time settled in the soft chair in front of Angel and slowly returned his gaze back on the captive. He was smiling - it looked like the smile never left his face. But it was a smile of a sphinx - red eyes were smart and cold. A man pulled his black lips even wider - with a creepy grin that didn't promise anything good.

\- Oh excuse my terrible lack of manners, young man, - he started energetically. His manner of speech vaguely reminded Angel of a radio host. - I have seem to completely forget to introduce myself to my guest! My name is Alastor, and I'm pretty sure you know who I am, so I'll skip all the other information! I would prefer to ask you how may I address you, my feminine friend?

Alastor squinted his eyes and pursed thin lips - that hinted very clearly that Angel would better answer the question.

\- I'm Angel Dust, - muttered he, while panicking thoughts were running through his head. " _Oh I must have guessed who that creepy bastard is_ , - he thought, - _the great and scary Alastor, the head of the most powerful mafia clan, controlling all media in New York, holding the whole city in terror by his inhuman cruelty... Well, at least about his fighting skills_ _…_."

-.. The rumors weren't lying, huh?, - Alastor finished the thought for him, and Angie's eyebrows raised in bewilderment. A man smirked, satisfied with the impression he made.  
\- Angel Dust, you are not the first man on earth who starts to remember my, hm, specific reputation after hearing a name. Not too many people outside of the clan know my face. I mean, _those who are alive after that_.

Alastor's grin was becoming more and more uncanny with every word he pronounced. And now Angel couldn't escape the feeling that this creep is reading his mind. But in the same time he wasn't able to stop staring at the other. He found out that one of the red eyes was partially hidden by a monocle, golden chain of which was hiding in his red hair with black ends. Deadly gloves were gone, and Angel could see thin and long fingers with neat but pretty sharp nails. Also… He was **tall**. Hella fucking tall, Angie always thought he was kinda long himself, but that slender psycho was a whole freaking head taller than him. And he surely had some time after the fight to take shower and change - he was wearing a fresh black set of shirt and classic pants. Pitch-black fabric was looking great on his pale skin with a strange grayish undertone.

But… This freshness alarmed Angel a lot. How long have he been here already? Hours? Or days? Did even anybody else survive??? There were no answers, and he didn't want to ask.

While Dust was lost in his own very inconsistent thoughts, Alastor proceeded to get up, slowly approach the prisoner and bended closer to his face. Angel noticed it too late.  
\- Well, well… Tell me, why did you do that? Did you think I won't know? - a whisper, full of anger and spite, seared Angie's ear. - For so many good years your clan was doing just fine, I was so pleased with your work. Why did you need to ruin everything? Oh, so many poor innocent people died… _Died because of you, Angel Dust_.

Angel felt like he was electrocuted by a sound of his own name, pronounced by that metallic voice. His cheeks flushed - of course, because of the outrage that burst inside of him. But Alastor could see his expression too well.

\- Because of _ME_?! - screamed Angel, trying to hide his true emotions, - Why did ya radio pimp even check? We defo deserved some piece of trust after the fucking years ya know! What a moron would even make clean dust these days, to sell to some wasted buggers? Do ya have too much fucking green or what?!

Alastor rudely grabbed Angel by the chin and forced him to raise his head. Their noses were almost touching now. Man's smile was still there, like it was glued, but it looked so fake when his eyes were flaming with pure, dreadful wrath.

\- Oh yes, because of you, my dear young friend, - Alastor hissed with a grin that was showing his sharp teeth, - because I can clearly see that you don't give a damn about your honor. Money doesn't matter for me. The honor of a mafioso is to always do your best, whatever you may be doing. And you… Your dirty little tricks are an insult. For my clan, and for me personally. Although…

He pulled back, and looked downwards at Angel with a strange curious expression, then continued.

\- For you, who pays more, owns everything? This is your slutty Dusts nature, _isn't it?_

After saying so, Alastor performed what Angel least expected of him. He buried one of his hands in Angie's hair, tangled and dirty from blood, and carefully pulled backwards. At the same time his second hand went down blonde's neck to the collarbone with nails slightly scratching the skin. It was so unexpected and, well, fucking hot, that Angel couldn't hold a quiet gasp. He cursed himself, but couldn't help enjoying that sudden interaction.

Alastor was watching him with a scientific preciseness, and Angel's response made his eyebrow literally fly up - he didn't expect this much of a reaction. More than satisfied with it, he smirked wide and evil, but quickly replaced this expression with a look of disgust. He snatched hands away, like he was touching something abhorrent, and went on with the monologue.

\- Ha! I must have guessed that myself. Your clan must have… oh, I mean, _HAD_ been experiencing some hard times, if even the family leader has to do part-time as a slut and reacts _like that_ to every single touch.

He laughed again, and now his quiet chuckle sounded like a rustling old radio. Dust swore to himself, furious and embarrassed at the same time. He was still kinda fascinated by this dangerous beauty. His cheeks would go pink every time those thin dark lips and greyish skin were too close. But he couldn't just admit that! It wasn't a fucking date, and this man, despite all his attractiveness, was a damn maniac. Angel was scared, so much that goosebumps were covering his skin on the back, cold and wet from a fearful sweat. And what was the worst, Alastor seemed to be understanding EVERYTHING.

\- None of your fucking business, - Angie spat, turning his face away.

\- _I didn't allow you to do that_ , - steel snapped in Alastor's voice, but Dust didn't move. Other's hard fingers snatched his chin again, forcefully turning his head and making him meet a flaming red glare.

\- My good friend, I highly recommend you to follow my orders. Your resistance to a regular beating was pretty commendable, but it won't help you now, - Alastor gloated with a devilish grin.  
\- Oh schnukums, don't fucking say it like you can do anything else to make me talk, - Angel slurred sarcastically, - Beat me - I won't spill a single shit of info. Kill me - and you won't ever know where the sniff is.

Another quiet, creaking chuckle. Nails sticking harder to Angel's face, scratching the skin.

\- Ha! What a naive kid. _I haven't even started_ trying to get what I want to know. And you, my dear, keep digging your own grave right now. Because now, Angel Dust, I won't settle on the information. I could just make you say where is my heroine, and let you die fast and not too painful. Or even set you free, just for fun, if I was in a good mood. But you have signed your fatal sentence. You've intrigued me. Made me curious with your stubbornness and fake pride, which you don't actually have, as well as honor, so **I don't want to just kill you anymore** , - Alastor whispered on the Angel's ear, savoring every word and getting more and more threatening, - _I will make you bear the most horrible tortures until you break and crawl on your knees begging me to rip your heart out._ And now, after your extremely interesting reaction to my presence, I have even more options to play around.

A hot breath scorches the ear as a touch of a narrow tongue follows. Alastor's fingers slide down from blonde's jaw on the throat, nails scrape the sensitive skin under the ears. Angie bites his lip. He's scared to death, but those touches feel incredibly good, and it's damn hard to keep hidden. But that miserable response was not enough for Alastor, - he bit the upper part of other's ear, and that caused Angie to shriek. It was a painful bite, but he had to admit that he always had a kink on a roughness like this. And he cursed himself for that. Again.

Alastor leaned backwards weirdly quick. He didn't want to think about that but Angel's skin tasted very, very nice. Thin and soft, with a tinge of sweetness mixed with salty dust and sweat. A man felt a slowly growing desire to taste if his blood was just as good as the skin. No, the time didn't come yet. And.. why it's so hot and stuffy in here?

Angel's hounded sight returned Alastor the dominancy he almost lost for a second. The mood switched - and the bloodthirsty grin has turned into a sugary-sweet welcoming smile.

\- Well-well-well, my dear captive. I took it upon myself to decide that we need some pretty special exuipment to continue our lovely show. So, you will need to spend a few minutes enjoying just your own company. I hope that's okay? Don't you be worried, I'll come back soon, - now Alastor was chattering merrily. Not a dreadful maniac - a lovely neighbour offering some evening tea. And that was creeping Angel out even more, especially when he realized WHAT EXACTLY Al was talking about with such a dear smile. Some cold sweat ran down his forehead.

\- Kinky, but I would prefer you never coming back, - uttered Angie viciously, trying not to look at the other.

\- Hah! Oh trust me, Angel, we're gonna have lots of fun when I come back. _Well, fun for me._ Ha-ha! Ciao!, - Alastor laughed, leaving the chamber and slamming the door.

_Now it is indeed a closed trap._


	2. You are not going to like it.

The echo was bringing the sound of black leather shoes clattering on the stone floor. The shadows were springing on the plain walls, multiplied and distorted by poor, unstable lighting. Alastor always kind of liked his shadow. He was enjoying it's company while walking down the long corridor and whistling some cheerful melody. Oh, he was still smiling - with a dreamy little smile. The "great and scary" mafioso didn't lie to Angel - he was more than somewhat intrigued. Interested. Puzzled. Curious. Whatever you wanna call that - and the man had his reasons. 

Firstly, of course, the bare fact that Angel made him use his ~special~ methods of getting what he wanted. Little blondie boy seemed to be very resistant to physical pain. Very few men could bear several hours of ruthless wallop and remain discreet, and, after all that, become even more aggressive. If the beat-ups weren't working for somebody - the fear worked even better. Being trapped in the lair of the strongest and scariest mafia clan in the city can be a good reason to act more polite. But, well, definitely not for this crazy scrapper. 

Dust heard Alastor's name - and beforehand saw how demonically dangerous he is in a fight - but nevertheless he didn't give up. What was even more interesting - Angel was somehow overcoming his fear. Alastor saw very clearly that his captive was truly horrified. He almost could smell his dread, wet and sticky - and it was giving him power. Though, a pup definitely deserved an applause for his acting skills - he was hiding his true emotions splendidly. 

Besides all of that factors, revealing one after another in a short time, there was one more thing that heated Alastor's interest up. Those weird reactions. Angel could probably escape from the battlefield, or at least not be caught that easily, if we wouldn't be just standing there peering at Al like he was a unicorn or something. Also, the touches. Usually Al hated all kinds of physical contact if it wasn't him stabbing a knife in someone's throat, but he didn't mind grabbing Angel's face this much, and Angel reacted very strange - again. 

A taste of Dust's skin came back on mind, and a fascinating mix of sweet and savoury tickled Alastor's tongue. He slowly licked his lips, unable to get rid of this feeling. He had to emerge from his thoughts for a moment, because he reached a torture equipment room. The sentry at the door bowed his head a little, trying not to look the boss in the eyes. 

\- Dear fellow, I will need a certain amount of things from here, so I wonder if you could bring a cart, - he uttered casually as he walked into the room, - and some drink.

***

The time was passing sickeningly slowly. Seconds were falling deliberately, like viscous drops of old honey. Idly gathering into minutes and leaving steadily, one after another, they were falling on Angel's head and driving him crazy.

He tried to somehow estimate the damage caused to his body so far. Nothing seemed to be broken, but whipped pretty bad. Multiple bruises of muscles and probably organs, presumable some bones and joints dislocations. It is pretty hard to judge when literally everything hurts. The dull pain from a long beat-up was itching in a whole body, tight ropes where terribly irritating. It must have damaged the whiteness of a skin pretty badly, all that violet bruises and red traces of ties... Much more severe marks then after some important client playing "dominant".

The last thought suddenly felt so obnoxious that Angel felt disgusted of himself. What kind of things came to his mind when he was literally in front of the impending doom? Everything will heal over - if Angel could make it out alive. 

" _No time for despair, Angel cakes_ , - he pulled himself up, - _You've been in worse shit than that, and could handle it. Chin up, you'll get outta here, just need to get how to handle this creepy happyface and.._ "

He didn't make up the plan by the moment the sound of footsteps caught him off guard. The door opened, and a man dressed as a sentry brought in the small metallic cart. Most of it contents was hidden in drawers, and on the top of it were a bottle of whiskey with a glass, as well as a pack of cigars with a box of matches. A man hurried out, and only after that Alastor allowed himself to head in. His face was shining with a joyful smile. 

Angel felt this weird combination of spite and admiration again, but it drowned shortly in a smothery dread. He could guess what was coming, and it was creeping him out. It was quite obvious that this psycho was an expert in casing pain. 

Meanwhile, Alastor has moved his chair and the cart closer. Settled in with comfort and poured half a glass of an expensive, flavored whiskey. Tasted it steadily, silently glancing over a prisoner.  
" _What a flippin' aristocrat_ , - an irritated thought ran through Angel's head, - _Holdin' a damn booze with a pulled pinky! Took a comfy seat n' shit, like we're having a bloody date. All reserved and slow to make me go nuts from waitin'. What an asshole!_ "

He was blankly staring through the other, trying not to gaze right at him. Not very successfully though. Alastor, by the way, wasn't trying to hide - cold red eyes were watching Angel closely. The glare was piercing Dust to the very core, like the tormentor was indeed reading other's thoughts. Narrowed pupils looked like vertical slits, one of them almost hidden by a glinting monocle. Finally, Alastor spoke.

\- Dear, I could say I'm delighted to see you safe and sound! If you were safe, or at least sound. Or weren't going to become even less sound about now. But... - Alastor glanced over the cart and leaned forward, looking Angel right in the eyes with a mischievous expression, - but it's your own fault, isn't it? Hah! Maybe you even ~like~ pain? I thought it might be the case, hahahah!

\- Eh, I thought I've told ya already, _figlio di puttana_ , I ain't telling where the dust is. You pompous cheesy bastard don't scare me. Oh, yeah, and the only pain I might like in your case is the suffering on your sappy face when I'll stuff the bloody smile in your throat and make ya swallow, - a captive sizzled.

Oh, not that type of dirty talk he was into. And heating up Alstor's anger wasn't a good idea. But seemed like it's just what he did. Scarlet eyes darkened from rage. Al pulled his lips wider in a daunting, ghastly grin. 

\- Oh, good lord, seems like the young generation has no idea of some damn manners! _Well, guess I need to take this upon myself too_. 

Alastor slipped a hand in one of the drawers. With a quiet tinkle he pulled out a huge butcher's cleaver. Angel felt a lump stuck in his throat. The other twirled the weapon a little, looking at it meticulously, had another sip of whiskey, and moved it away, putting on the top of the cart next to the bottle. Then he put his hand into the drawer again, dragging out a hunting knife this time - which also was pulled away. The red-head took out some more considerably big knives, but let them on just lay on the improvised table, like he was dissatisfied with the result of the search every time. 

Angel's face was already white as paper from a sight of those impressive weapons, and he had his heart weakly tremble somewhere near his heels by the moment Al found something that he considered suitable. It was a thin stiletto, looking like a toy near all those massive knives laying nearby. After inspecting a razor-sharp blade, he nodded with satisfaction, then downed the glass and poured himself more, but left the glass on the "table". 

Then Alastor quickly moved closer to Angel and carefully seized his jaw his two fingers. Made him turn his head upwards, then from side to side, peering at the neck. 

\- Oh, anything wrong, dear friend? Cat got your sassy tongue?

Was it just Angel's exhausted mind, or Al's voice now had a tinge of swishing, like a radio interference? That must have been just his imagination. 

Alastor pulled the hand a little upwards and scratched Angie's upper lip with a free finger. Blonde twitched his head, taking advantage of a loosened grip, and sunk his teeth in the other's arm with all force and anger he had. 

Oh, his tormentor was expecting that. Moreover, he had plenty of time to move his wrist away - Dust was exhausted from hunger and pain, so the attack was slow. Or he could just squeeze the prisoner's face stronger, not letting him move. But he had chosen to let him do what he wanted. Although, it didn't mean that Angie was getting away with this. 

Furious pink-and-black eyes met the ice cold red. Alastor froze, turning into a statue. The time stopped at that moment. Deeply in scarlet, under the thin ice, was raging the wrath so wild and savage that Angel unconsciously broke the grip himself. And launched the time again. 

A rapid hit crushed on blonde's cheek. Another slap on the other side, severe and trenchant. Alastor clutched the other's hair very painfully and tilted his head upwards - their noses were almost touching again. Angel could feel the edge of stiletto tingling his throat. 

\- Oh, I won't advise you to act like that, young man, - Alastor uttered frostily, - There is absolutely no point in hoping that you will piss me off enough to just murder you! I'm delighted with this ongoing entertainment you provide, but you're only making it harder on yourself! It's in your best interest to behave like a good man!

The sharp edge dug into the skin deeper, almost piercing it. Oh, Angel understood very clearly, what the other was aiming at. To make the prisoner show his fear. To make him try to please a tormentor with a pathetic and fake courtesy or pleads. Angel didn't disgust the concept itself - he was used to pretending and portraying a nice attitude. Just... not this time. He couldn't let this arrogant _mascalzone_ make him dance to his tune. He didn't want to see the malicious triumph filling those eyes. And the interest flushing out of them. Oh, he saw how Al looks at other opponents and even his own clansmen - like through the blank space. Seemingly, for him they were just some faceless ragdolls who don't worth a smallest piece of attention. And for a reason Angel avoided thinking about, he really didn't want to feel the same kind of sight on himself. So, he had to talk back. 

\- Pfft, who I can show my manners off to in that shithole? _You? No way._

Alastor's ghoulish grin turned into a wide, sinister smile which definitely wasn't a good sign. His teeth gleamed carnivorously in the dull lighting. He put the stiletto away, and took a strange looking mechanism. The fact that the man pulled out the right thing without even searching made Angel suspect that the extracting of all the stuff before was just a little show to make him shiver from dread. If it was true, well, Al succeeded. 

\- Do you know what that is? - Alastor asked, showing the machine to Angel. He tried to shake his head as the ropes let him. Al licked his lips, trying to hold back the excitement of anticipation. - Haha! _You won't like it_. This lovely small device will deprive you of your nice nails!

Angel gave a sick lurch backwards and almost fell with a chair. Alastor chuckled with that rustling quiet sound again. He was losing self-control - very slowly so far, but enough for some very uncanny sparkles to start glowing in his sight. 

\- It hurts much more if you struggle, - Al whispered, moving even closer, - And oh, I want you to look _right in my eyes_ the whole time. Don't even try to turn away, Angel, you got me? 

Dust gulped and nodded weakly. Maybe that will really help to distract a little.

Cold hands reached for Angie's wrist with a phrenetic tenderness. He tied to enchant himself again, to drown in the inferno of glowing bloody-red. And he succeeded for a second, but then the machinery worked. 

**A click.** Short and dry. 

**A scream.** Shrill, filled with pain and terror. A cry, totally selling Angel down the river.   
Oh, Alastor enjoyed it, so much that he could feel goosebumps running down his spine. No sweetest moan could be more pleasing to his ears than this desperate shriek. He looked at the detached nail - thin, almost transparent except for small blood drops covering the majority of its surface. With an obvious pleasure Al glanced over the bleeding wound where the nail just was, feeling the rapture flood his mind. Moved the sight to Angel's face - and blinked surprisedly. 

Heavy teardrops were flowing down captive's cheeks, heterochromatic eyes were unfocused and blurred. Blonde was almost unconscious, but still looking into other's eyes. He watched red smoldering charcoals like they could save his life - or take it and stop the pain. 

Alastor slid his fingers down Dust's cheek with lunatic endearment. Leaned closer and licked some of the tears off, tasting the other's despair. No reaction, despite how strong Al might be pressing his tongue against the milky skin. He shook his head, showing the displease. 

\- Who might think that while being so insensitive to beating, you're so weak to some more entertaining activities, - the man uttered slowly and tilted his head a little to the right, - Dear friend, maybe, you'll consider finally telling me where my cocaine load is? Maybe I'll get more gentle. But I don't recommend you to lie. My people already went over your mansion with a toothcomb. 

\- Found nothnin'? Simple dupes they're then, - Angel mumbled weakly. 

\- Hah?, - Al smiled wider, feeling his interest grow even more, - Maybe, some painkillers will make my offer more welcoming? Or at least help you remain conscious. You don't want to upset me even more by fainting again, do you? Well, I think you don't. 

He reluctantly put the terrifying device away, and took a bottle. Dust decided not to resist this time - who knows, maybe it can help just a little?..

\- Do I need to pour it with force? My friend, I can see that it's not a common situation for you to hear it, but be a good boy and open your damn mouth, - Alastor murmured, and... Angel could be hallucinating again, or something has changed in the other's smile for a moment. What was freaking Angie out even more... He still was fluttering from hearing the simple sound of his own name. 

The irritated sound of nails tipping on the glass brought blonde back to reality, and he quickly unclenched his teeth. Holding a glass in one hand and whiskey in the other, Alastor carefully placed the bottle neck against prisoner's lips and slightly tilted it, allowing Angie to take a few gulps while sipping on his own drink. Al caught himself on a thought that he's being too gentle to that stubborn cheeky boy. Why would he? It was the time to end this. 

He downed the glass and put the bottle on place. Closed his eyes and took a long breath. Then opened them and looked back at the prisoner. Scarlet abyss was drowned with madness more savage that the boy has ever seen. Angel shivered, and Alastor's smile seemed to take almost all the lower part of his face. 

***

  
The next few hours blended for Angel in the unceasing doom of pain and bitter taste of whiskey. Alastor used anything to keep the captive conscious - more whiskey, face slaps, shaking his shoulders or pulling his hair. He remained perfectly sober himself, but was getting a taste for it more and more, and kept taking new torture devices from his ghastly cart.

Angel almost broke. He lost count of how many ways the red-haired maniac bedeviled him before he was at the edge of insanity. But even with his eyes, sightless from suffering, he could figure that he is now missing almost all nails, and fingertips are deeply punctured by needles. His shirt was cut, and bruises on his body were accompanied with some electrical burns. 

Blonde glanced over his tormentor. He looked so... Bloody jubilant. Excited. Even happy. He was freaking shining from joy, so much that some blush appeared on his pale cheeks. Well, maybe the last point happened due to a solid amount of alcohol, but still. 

There was one interesting thing. Alastor didn't touch any of knives since the very beginning of the torture despite the fact that he started with them and didn't really use. Like he wanted, but for some reason avoided doing so. 

Well, that was quite close to the truth. Al didn't quite have a control over himself already, and his bloodlust was only growing. That was making it so hard to hold back. Especially when he cut the boy's shirt. Angel's body was in a splendid shape, Alastor must have admitted that. But that bare throat and some damn tempting wounds were making Dust extraordinary attractive. The man could feel saliva filling his mouth as the madness flooded his mind, slowly cracking the wall of his self-control. 

He leaned back and lit the cigar, giving them both a break. Blew a ring of smoke right at Angel's face. Dust couldn't help watching those thin fingers holding a cigar, dark lips bending, reflections of fire smoldering in half-closed red eyes. He had to confess - if all of the tortures weren't so scary and painful, he might have even kinda liked it. 

Angie wasn't aware that Alastor was watching him too, and enjoying what he saw. Pale, bloodless face. Dimmed from excruciation, but still unbroken, angry heterochromatic eyes. Wounded body. It seemed to somehow become too hot and stuffy in the chamber that even Al felt it. He took another puff, then unbuttoned his shirt a little, showing the sharp outlines of his collarbones. Angel's sight slid on the other's skin - he wasn't ever trying to hide it anymore. Anyway Alastor could read him clearly now. Angie's eyes suddenly stuck on a weirdly white streak interfering the familiar greyish tone, and he glanced over Al's face with a silent puzzlement. The other chuckled, tilting his head a bit sideways, and exhaled some smoke into prisoner's face again. 

\- My good friend, you didn't happen to see scars, did you? Hah! You want me to show. - not a question, a statement. And he is right. Again. - Then, I will require some sort of payment. Just a bit. 

He leaned forward and jabbed the cigar in the thin skin on Angie's solar plexus, carefully watching his face, twisted with suffering. Barely could resist an urge to sink his teeth into the captive's throat, and tilted the cigar slowly, enjoying the painful shrieks. 

Then he put the cigar away and got up. Steadily unbuttoned all of black buttons with engraved deer skulls on them. Took it off with a single graceful movement, and tossed it on the chair's back, then spun slowly, allowing Angel to explore. Caught the spellbound sight, and a cunning grin touched his lips.

\- So, whaddaya think? Happy now, hah?

  
The blonde didn't response, he was literally consumed by watching Alastor. He examined the lines of wide shoulders and shapely arms, looked lower, at the chiseled torso with slight abs outlines and perfectly built waist. Al's pelvic bones were protruding slightly on the flat stomach, and a line of short red hair contrasted on a skin between them, running under the pants belt. 

And all that perfect grey skin was covered by white lightnings of scars. Ragged and smooth, healed burnts, dots of gunshot wounds, cuts. They were everywhere - on both arms, chest, belly and back. It seemed like Alastor's body didn't have a place not entirely covered in scars. 

\- Holy shit! How the heck there's so many?!, - Angel exclaimed, forgetting himself in shock. 

Alastor's smile turned bitter.

\- Ha! Do you think I learned fighting on ragdolls? Everyone makes mistakes, good friend, the trick is that some can take **lessons** out of them. You are not too good at this, I would say. Maybe a couple of scars would explain when playing a hero is unnecessary. In fact, in most cases, but especially...

Slender fingers clenched on the stiletto handle.

\- ... _now_. 

Angel could see man's hands trembling. Actually, his whole body was shaking from the toes to the black tips of his hair. He hasn't been that entertained since... the hell knows how long. A maniac excitement was making Alastor's heart race, blood was pounding heavily in his temples. He could feel the red haze fogging up his sight, but still had to restrain. Would be a shame to accidentally slit Angel's throat from overexcitement, so the man struggled to save what remained of his self control. 

He approached Angel very closely and bended over him, leaning one hand on the blonde's hip, and pulled the blade under his collarbone. After that amount of whiskey and many hours of more painful tortures, it almost didn't hurt. Angel just hissed quietly, staring at Alastor's naked shoulder that happened to be right in front of Dust's face. An exquisite, sophisticated smell of the skin was mesmerizing. Strawberry. Blood. Ashes. Power and confidence. A spicy shade of whiskey, almost ruining the composition, but matching surprisingly well. 

Angel must have been going crazy already, because he didn't even realize what he's doing. He tried to reach forward as mush as ropes let him, and touched the other's skin with his tongue. At the exact same moment Alastor slid his tongue along the cut he made, licking the red drops off. 

That was even better than he could imagine. Angie's blood was making him fell drunk much more than the whiskey he just had. A rich metallic flavor, but so unusually sweet that it somehow made Al think of cotton candy. He was so fascinated that he didn't even notice the touch at the first place. And when he did, he decided not to interrupt it right away. 

How many times already that pretty little slut made Alastor change his plans on the go, giving in to a weird sudden sympathy and odd desires? Well, who the hell even cares? Definitely not Alastor at that moment. He raised his head a little higher, leaving a moist trace on the milky skin, and sunk his teeth into captive's shoulder. Sharp fangs pierced the skin easily, and he swallowed the blood, feeling how his rapture goes crazy. He heard a delightful moan, lusty and suffering at the same time, and gnawed even deeper, unable to get enough of that taste. 

Using other's affection, Angie tried to bite back, but Alastor swiftly withdrew the shoulder and lifted his head. 

\- Don't you dare to even think about that, - steel crackled in his voice, - You are the only masochist whore in this place. 

Dark vinous drops were falling off black lips. Two sights, pink/black and scarlet, met, and for both it felt like an electric shock going through their bodies. Al dragged the free hand from blonde's hip upwards, touching his belly and chest, then grabbed him by the jaw. With the other hand he made a long vertical cut on Angie's cheek, and licked over the slit not even trying to hide enjoyment. 

Angel has never felt so breathtaken by just a closeness of other person, or a simple touch. But now he didn't even wince from pain because he just forgot how to breathe. Alastor's face was right in front of his. A clouded sight of scarlet eyes peering at him, shiny vertical pupils, a slight blush and lips wet from blood... 

Alastor has never liked anyone this much. Did he ever, kinda, feel sympathy for a person? He didn't think so. But he couldn't deny liking this guy anymore. His interest must have just gone way too far. Though... He didn't really care. Al felt entertained, and boredom was the thing he hated the most in this world. So..

He leaned forward just a bit. Black and pink lips almost touch, leaving only a couple inches of air between them. 

A hesitant knock in the door. 

The air froze in realization pause. Angel felt like a bucket of ice cold water was poured at him, and his racing heart just dropped. Red eyes turned perfectly clear and furious in a second, and pupils narrowed into slits. 

\- **WHAT THE HELL?!** , - Alastor growled, turning away and standing up rapidly. He didn't want the other to know how much he was upset by that disturbance. 

The door opened a bit. The unknown messenger mumbled quietly, stammering from fear:  
\- I-I'm sorry, boss... I j-just... The p-p-prison commandant told m-me to as-sk about.. Other captives f-f-from Dust f-family...

Angel almost jumped on a chair.

\- WHAT? They are alive?! **LET THEM GO!**

Alastor turned to Angel, and his neutral smile turned evil. _Very, very evil._

\- Oh, I thought you forgot about your own clan already, dear Angel. Missed them? Wanna see? Bring 'em all here!, - he commanded to the messenger, and he left, slamming the door back. 

Al slowly put on the shirt and buttoned it up, then settled back on the chair, threw his head back and closed his eyes. 

_One show was over, and next one was just about to start._


End file.
